I will simply not be able to survive if he does, and I have my own match to play in just a few minutes.

But I needn’t have worried. Rafe takes the winner’s sash he’s been awarded and ties it around my arm. He leans in close, and his hair, most of which has come loose from its bun, acts like a curtain, blocking the view of our faces. So no one else knows that when he leans in closer, all he actually does is whisper, “Your team doesn’t have a chance against us, Little Weed.”

I don’t miss the chorus of awws and sighs from onlookers.

“How do you play so… elegantly?” I ask.

He explains as I walk with him toward his team’s tent. “The reason that Sires are so prized in the league is because of our ability to bounce back from injury and continue to play. When I tilt, I do so with the complete assurance that I can immediately heal any pain dealt my way. The elegance comes from the erasure of fear. Without fear of impact, I am in control of the tilt.”

Forcing reality to his will, as usual. What a prince.

Before he leaves me to go clean up and change, I say, “What you did, offering the draw—I thought it was really cool that you did the right thing.”

“I always do the right thing,” he scoffs. “You and I just have different ideas about what’s right.”

As the games progress, the Ciphers and Bios lead the rankings as expected. In the Alchemists’ first match, Sebastian wins against the Artisans, but then we lose a close match against the Sophists. By the time it’s my turn to compete, I don’t have to all-out win my match, but I’ll need to do well to keep us in the running. If I lose all my rounds or get downed too many times and fork over a bunch of points, then unless every remaining member of my team plays a perfect game—which is rare if your name isn’t Rafe Vanguard—we’re at risk of being eliminated.

Considering I’m about as good with a lance as I am at choosing my crushes, this is a lot of pressure.

Once I’ve donned my spidersilk armor, I take deep breaths and shake out my body. My goal is to win at least one round and stay on my hover for at least one more.

“Honorable Makers.” I hear Zo, our herald, starting her spiel. “For her debut tournament…”

As I pull on my helm, I block out the sounds of Zo’s exaggeration of my skills and instead tell myself to imagine that I’m snowboarding on a mountaintop—it’s just me and the board and the cold wind on my face.